


where it all begins

by underpressure



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underpressure/pseuds/underpressure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all was so fast. He fell in love with Harry so fast and sometimes, like right now, when he looks over at the younger boy – watches the same dimple appear in a smile or see him fiddle with the ring, <i>Louis’</i> ring – he can feel the swoop, the butterflies come back and it’s like he’s the same eighteen year old idiot who would do anything to make Harry laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where it all begins

Louis isn’t allowed to let anyone know he’s in Los Angeles. Harry, however, is to be seen at least twice a day for three to four days consecutively – if possible. It’s dumb because while Harry gets to go hang out with Courtney Cox or eat dinner with Azoff (who pays for fucking everything – Harry’s had lobster three different times this week), Louis is forced to stay in their house and jerk-off to pay-per-view porn and beg Harry to bring In-And-Out when he comes home. So, okay, it’s not so bad but being with Harry is better than that because then he can watch Harry eat “animal style” chips and Harry will use his mouth to get him off so that Louis’ wrist doesn’t get a cramp. 

He gets bored alone though. So, when Harry proposes they take a long drive out on one of the back roads, Louis jumps at it because he gets to leave the house to go somewhere other than the studio and he gets to see Harry outside of the house, with the sun shining on his skin and sweat beading in the bends of his knees. And Louis is able to enjoy them just being for all of the first fifteen minutes in the car before he gets antsy, which is remarkable, really.

“How far out is it?” 

Harry had dropped a thick blanket and two takeaway boxes from some diner in the backseat before they left and the smell of chicken was making Louis’ stomach growl. He looked over at Harry in his tight jeans and plaid shirt. He looked glorious and all Louis wanted to do was bend over the console and force the pants down to his ankles. They needed to be wherever they were going right now so that Louis could ravish him – right after he ate.

“Not too far from here.” Harry’s voice is slow, in absolutely no hurry as his hand comes over to lace his long fingers with Louis’ shorter ones. He’s got some Lana Del Ray album in the CD player and she croons about her daddy as Louis shifts nervously in his seat, watching the trees pass by them quickly. He’s not seen another person out here yet and the idea is thrilling. Louis adores his job, wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world but sometimes knowing that a million teenagers are scrutinizing him is daunting. Out here, away from the paparazzi, the fans, and management – out here with Harry, he can be himself. He squeezes Harry’s fingers.

It’s not long before Harry pulls off to the side, parks the car under a tree. Louis makes to get out of the car, reaches down to pull his shoes back on but Harry stops him, grips the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. His lips are slippery, sliding against Louis’ wetly – perfectly. He shivers despite the sun that is hitting him through the window, hand coming up to grip at Harry’s cheek. He bites at Louis’ lip, tugs on it as he breaks the kiss.

“Find a spot to eat.”

Wherever it is that they are, there is an open field of grass that comes a little bit above Louis’ ankles, making the skin itch as he walks to find a place in the sun. It not too hot and the sun warms him from the inside out, makes him feel a bit giggly. Harry’s not far behind him, handing the containers over as he tosses the blanket out, toes off his boots and sits down. Louis makes a spot next to him, pops the tab on the containers to find identical chicken sandwiches and chips. His mouth waters. 

They eat in silence and it’s wonderful – feels exactly like something out of those Twilight films that Eleanor always brought with her when she flew out to Japan or Australia or wherever management called her for her monthly duties. He shook his head, reaching for one of the beers that Cal had probably bought for Harry and took a long swig.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry says, popping some of the ridiculously greasy chips into his mouth. Louis can already hear the treadmill interrupting his sleep tomorrow morning. He bites into the sandwich.

“Nothing.” It’s jumbled but Harry understands. He always understands and that’s just so fucking ridiculous. How the fuck did this boy come into his life and flip absolutely everything that Louis had known on its head? It was like the moment that Harry had looked him in the eye everyone else had ceased to exist. It all was so fast. He fell in love with Harry so fast and sometimes, like right now, when he looks over at the younger boy – watches the same dimple appear in a smile or see him fiddle with the ring, _Louis’_ ring – he can feel the swoop, the butterflies come back and it’s like he’s the same eighteen year old idiot who would do anything to make Harry laugh. Harry leans over so his shoulder bumps Louis’ and presses his lips to Louis’ ear. 

“Liar.” 

Louis turns to look at Harry, swallows the last bits of his sandwich and wipes his dirty hands over his thighs. Harry’s eyes are green – like no other green Louis’ ever seen before. They stare at him with such intensity, like they aren’t eating lunch in the middle of nowhere. He makes a face, scrunches his nose in the way that always makes Harry laugh. He cracks a smile, leans forward to press his nose just right so that he can kiss him, can taste the leftover grease of the chips and the pickles that were on the sandwiches. Harry has never been subtle, not when he would stare holes into the side of Louis’ face during interviews or when he would grip at his thigh, hold onto Louis’ leg like he was about to float to the ceiling. 

He licks into Louis’ mouth with intent, hand reaching out to slip under the white of his tank top, to grip at the soft, tan skin of his hip. Harry has sharp teeth, teeth that Louis knows like they are his own. He licks over them, slides his tongue over Harry’s like he likes, swallows the hitch in Harry’s breath like it’s his own. It’s so weird, how Harry feels so much like Louis now. He feels constantly in tuned to Harry’s body, knows it probably better than his own. He reckons, if given the chance, he could find all of the tiny moles and freckles on Harry’s body with his eyes closed, could trace all of the exact shapes with his tongue. He’s sucked bruises over many of them before, connected them with pen when neither of them could sleep after a show. 

He reaches a hand up, cups Harry’s neck because gripping his hair is out of the question after the edition of the headbands. There are no bruises on the skin, no deep purple marks left from Louis’ teeth – not yet. It almost makes him angry then, how he’s allowed to fly out here as long as he’s not seen, allowed to suck marks into Harry’s milky skin as long as they aren’t seen. In his mind, he laughs at the idea – it would probably make the fucking Kendall Jenner story seem more real. He knows that the fans have caught on – know that Harry respects people too much to corner them in their hotel rooms for a quick shag and then ditch them the next morning when the paps are outside. 

Harry bites into the edge of his mouth, nips hard enough to break at the skin and Louis is all there. He is so there in the middle of the field, kissing the love of his life. Harry’s hand has slid to the small of his back and he’s leaning forward like he wants Louis to lie back, so he does. He spreads his legs and pulls Harry down between them, angles his hips up so Harry is cradled there, at home even. 

“I love you so much.” He whispers, lips ghosting over the shell of Harry’s ear as the younger man sucks at his neck, nips at the skin. Louis is allowed a few marks. They’ll all be long gone by the time he has to actually play at the Rovers game and that’s the next major appearance, unless management says differently. He rolls his eyes and then his hips, lets them arch up to grind at Harry’s cock. He grinds back, bites hard at Louis’ shoulder and moves to whisper into Louis’ ear.

“I love you too but since when are you into public sex?” 

Louis loves his privacy. The idea that there are people in Paraguay or Germany or America that know every little detail about him is terrifying. He likes the mystery, the confidentiality that comes with being _normal_. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call this public, babe.” 

“I don’t know. I think I saw a couple of deer being voyeuristic a little bit ago.” Harry’s nose nudges his and Louis breathes in the air that he lets out. He leans up for a kiss, smiles into Harry’s mouth when he starts talking again, “They might come back to _fawn_ over you.”

Harry laughs, eyes squinting into crinkles at the corner as Louis groans. 

“I definitely don’t want to sleep with you now. You’ve ruined it all.” Louis groans, hand sliding under the loose flannel shirt and the t-shirt under it, pinching at the skin of Harry’s hip. He reaches up then, presses at the sides of the flannel so that Harry will sit up and pull it off. 

“Wait, are we really doing this?” Harry’s teeth abandon their perusal of his neck after one last sharp nip, and he sits up on his knees and pulls his shirts off. The necklaces fall back against the tan skin of his collarbone. He looks like a God, like something straight out of an art museum in France or Spain. Louis sits up and pulls his own shirt off, licks out at Harry’s nipple easily as he loosens his belt.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” It’s definitely not the sexiest thing he’s ever said, and Harry is still aiming at some sort of romantic as he folds their shirts into a weird makeshift pillow for Louis to lay on. The grass is lumpy underneath him as he lies back down, but Harry lies on top of him again, rocks his hips in a slow grind that takes the breath out of Louis’ lungs. His mouth goes dry as Harry’s hand grips at the skin of his hip, nails scratch at the skin. His breath hitches again, because the scratching always gets him. His nails are bitten down to nubs, but Harry’s are just long enough to dig at the skin, bring blood to the skin. Tomorrow, when Harry heads out to drive around with Cal or one of the Azoffs, Louis will jerk off and try to scratch the same kind of marks on his inner thigh – he definitely can’t make himself feel as good as Harry makes him feel. 

“Kiss me.” It sounds strained to his own ears, but Harry pulls up from his collarbones and presses their lips together smoothly. This part… this part is so fucking familiar yet so exciting, like he could do it forever and never be bored. Harry’s tongue sweeps out to drag a slow lick at his bottom lip, licks between them to suck at Louis’ tongue. His hips are still rocking, nudging up at Harry’s in small thrusts and when Harry pulls back, bites at his lips and pulls, they need to be out of their pants. Now.

He pushes at the waistband of Harry’s tight jeans, wonders briefly how he isn’t soaked with sweat, because they’ve only been here for a bit and Louis feels like a fire has been lit in his bones. Harry catches the hint, moves back to tug the material down his legs as Louis does the same. He’s seen Harry naked many times, in the beginning when he didn’t really care to and then later, when he really did. There are dark bruises turning discolored yellows at his thighs in the shape of Louis’ mouth. Their pants and boxers get pushed to the edge of the blanket where the empty containers and beer bottles, dotted with long streams of condensation, sit. 

When Harry settles over him again, the solid pressure of his cock settles just left of Louis’ as he leans down to kiss again. The kiss is lovely, everything and nothing like it always it. He stretches a hand down, runs his fingertips over the smooth ridge of Harry’s spine, grips at the cheek of his ass and then pulls his thigh over Louis’ hip. He settles Harry just as he wants him, situates his own thigh so that when he moves his hip just so Harry’s thigh will be there for pressure. He does so, whining into Harry’s mouth as his cock slides over the thick muscle of Harry’s thigh.

Harry bites at his lip again, reaches a hand up to grip tightly at Louis’ jaw, turn it to the side and bite at the skin. He sucks over Louis’ pulse point, grinds his hips slow and dirty. Louis’ hands grip at Harry’s shoulder, hips moving the way Harry leads. It’s kind of funny how in public, Louis is this presence – the center that pulls all the boys together. He guides Harry, makes sure that he’s always there, where he’s meant to be. In their home, though, and in bed, Harry takes that role. He moves Louis the way he wants, bend him to his will and it gives Louis life – allows him to take a breath, let go of the responsibility he felt due to being the eldest in the band. 

Harry’s hand slips between them, tugs at his cock with practiced ease as he knocks the breath out of Louis. He can’t imagine going back home after this, going back to their empty house and listening to Harry tell him how to jerk himself off instead of Harry actually doing it. His chest aches with it, the need for Harry to fly back with him, sleep in the bed they picked out together. He moans out, hand gripping at the curls at the back of Harry’s head, tugs. 

“Can I eat you out?” Harry rasps, like he’s just finished a concert and his hand moves from Louis’ cock to his balls to his hole, fingers a dry press over him. As unsexy as it is, Louis thinks back to the thorough shower that morning and nods jerkily, presses at Harry’s shoulder to get him down there faster. He remembers vividly the first time Harry had slid down his body; spread his thighs wide and licked at him for what felt like hours. It was just after they’d moved into their first house, when he still was without tattoos and Harry had baby fat around his hips. It’s the same now: the quick licks and sucks at the skin just to the right that makes Louis feel like there is electricity in his veins. 

Harry’s tongue sweeps over him in a slow brush of the flat of his tongue and he reaches down to grip at Harry’s head, jerking at the headband holding the curls back. The cloth unravels and falls away from Harry’s hair but he pays no mind and continues to kitten lick at the rim of Louis, reaches up to push his thighs far apart. Louis’ neck stretches back, throat dry as he gulps in the hot air around them. Harry’s fingertips are pressing into bruises that he’d sucked into the skin the night before, moving up above his nose to cup Louis’ ball and roll them in his palm. 

“H-Harry.” The taller man sucks one last time at the rim, pulls back to look at Louis through heavy-lidded, nearly black eyes. He wants to kiss him, wants so badly to suck on Harry’s thick bottom lip and rut up into his hip until he comes and then drive back to their house and lay out beside the pool in the garden. Harry’s fingers slide between his thighs, slick with lube that Louis didn’t see Harry pull from the pocket of his discarded jeans. 

His back arches off the ground, hips moving with Harry as he presses in with two to start. Louis can’t take his eyes of Harry’s face, can’t stand to miss the way that Harry bites his bottom lip, nostrils flaring and eyes dark. He’s the epitome of sex, all tan skin and heavy breaths. Louis whines out as Harry slips another finger in, curving them all together only to stretch them out, searching for Louis’ prostate. His cock is hard, leaning to the left and Louis wants it in his mouth. He wants to lick up the side, breath in the musky smell of sweat and skin and Harry. It’s gross, really, to find the smell of Harry’s fucking dick and balls so damn intoxicating, so sexy but he can’t help it. There isn’t one thing about Harry that Louis doesn’t love. He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucks two in and licks between them. Harry watches him, stretching out the fingers of one hand inside of Louis as the other slides up his calve, brings Louis’ ankle up to rest on the muscle of his shoulder. When he pulls his fingers out, Louis finds that he should be embarrassed of the needy sound that rolls off his tongue but he can’t find it in himself to be. Harry is looking at him like he’s the entire fucking world as he strokes his slick fingers up his cock and then squeezes the last of the lube from the tiny foil packet over his cock. The head feels huge when Harry settles it against Louis’ hole, like it always does. 

“Alright?” Harry’s knuckles brush against his ass cheeks, spreading him with one hand as he guides himself in with the other. He nods, relaxes as Harry slips inside of him, feels the muscles pop loose as he sinks inside. It’s almost too much between the hot sun, Harry over him and in him. He feels overwhelmed, overheated and so fucking loved. His ankle slips off of Harry’s shoulder as the other boy moves, slips onto his hands as Louis’s legs come up to bend over his hips. It doesn’t always feel good like this, on his back and it definitely isn’t going to feel good later when he slides into bed and tries to lay flat but right now, it’s lovely. Harry stares down at him, brushes the long hair back from his forehead and licks out over his mouth. It’s not quite a kiss when Harry presses his lips to his as much as just breathing in each other’s air, but Louis puckers up anyway. 

“Move.” His hips angle up and he slides with each thrust of Harry’s hips. His cock bobs between them, head catching on Harry’s skin, painting the shaded butterfly with clear precum. Louis makes high whines to counteract Harry’s low moans as sweat beads at his collarbones and in the dips of Harry’s spine. Louis’ hands slip slide down Harry’s back, before coming up to finally knot at the long, loose hair at the back of his neck. He pulls him closer for a kiss, clacking their teeth together as he chases after the pink tongue that might as well be his. Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck, bites at the skin as Louis tugs on his hair with each brush of his prostate, with each slow grind of his hips. 

It feels life forever, like Harry fucks him for ages. He’s all smooth grinds and then rough thrusts that have Louis whining like he’s being pulled apart. Harry’s hand slides between their stomachs, ridiculously long fingers wrapping around Louis’ length and pulling at it. The sun is hot where it’s sat on his hands as they grip at Harry’s shoulders and he knows Harry’s back will probably be a bright pink from sunburn later that night. He makes a mental note to put lotion on it but he loses his train of thought when Harry moves his hips just so, repositions his knees so that each thrust hits Louis’ prostate. Harry kisses at his jaw, bites at the corner of it and fucks him harder, faster.

It’s weird as Louis makes his high whine and Harry grunts into his neck, moans low when Louis clenches over him and the area around them is so silent. There’s not a vibrating cellphone on the nightstand, no television buzzing on about dancing preteens or how it’s going to be “hot, hot, hot” over the next seven days in Los Angeles. Birds are flying over their fucking heads and Harry’s dick is bringing him to his death and he can’t think of anyfuckingwhere else he’d rather be. 

Harry grinds just right, bites over one of the older bruises on his neck and Louis arches over the blanket, comes between them. Harry’s butterfly gets covered in it, gets painted white as Harry keeps fucking him. He comes quickly, mouth open as he pants wet breaths into Louis’ neck. And he knows, knows that this is only the beginning. It’s only the beginning. 

“I think ants got in the takeaway boxes.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. i apologize for any mistakes. please feel free to come say hello at my [tumblr](http://falsecompare.tumblr.com). i'd love it if you guys would tell me what you'd like to see in the future. :)


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